In My Line of Work (FrUs pornstar AU)
by really-america
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy is a pornstar. Alfred is, perhaps, the biggest fan of his work. So, when he runs into him while shopping for food, to say he was shocked and excited to meet the man of his less-than-pure dreams would be an understatement.
1. Chapter 1

Alfred F. Jones was not addicted to watching porn, by any stretch, but that wasn't to say he didn't quite enjoy doing so as a pastime. It was casual. Watching a quick video before bed was a small part of his nightly routine. And, like many with anything they might watch, like movies or tv shows, he had a favorite "actor". Which would otherwise not be very important, as someone's favorite performer of any kind generally was not, were it not for a particular series of events that occurred at a Kroger's one day.

He was picking up boxes of cereal and trying to decide if it was more cost effective to buy two regular boxes of Frosted Flakes or one family size box, when he noticed a figure dressed in sweats join him in the aisle. The person's joggers were tucked into a pair of cute but lazily-laced boots, and they wore a dull purple hoodie with the hood pulled completely up. Alfred didn't pay the person much mind. Who pays attention to random people in a grocery store? Not him. That is, until he turned to head farther down the aisle just when the other took their hood down so they could squint at the label on a jar of jam.

Even with his hair up in a messy, mom-looking bun, and an exhausted sort of look on his face, Alfred could recognize that guy anywhere. _He'd_ practically memorized the sound of his moans, whether or not they were faked, and he could see the image of his orgasm face in his mind as clear as day. He dropped his Frosted Flakes.

Francis turned his head slowly. He was not unused to shocked and excited and obnoxious reactions from people who recognized him from his work when they spotted him in public, but that didn't make him any happier to have to deal with it when he had a hangover and a large brunch to cook for his favorite younger brother who was coming into town to visit him. He forced a smile, bitterly, putting the strawberry jam into the basket he had hung over the crook of his arm.

"Hello."

Alfred scrambled to pick his cereal up, cheeks already pink, clearing his throat. Francis waited for the inevitable.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you're-"

"Francis Frederick, oui." He said with a curt nod. Alfred scratched the back of his head.

"I so totally don't mean to make a scene or anything I just, uh, like what you do." He tucked his Kellogg's cereal under his arm, shifting from foot to foot. "Seeing you caught me off guard. That's all." His face was an even mix of apologetic and starstruck as he struggled to maintain eye contact and not think about how he knew exactly what the small Frenchman looked like underneath all his clothes. Francis held back a sigh.

"Would you like an autograph or a selfie? I'd rather you didn't pick the latter, as I haven't showered in the last 24 hours and am trés dégoutant as a result." Alfred was hesitant for a moment, not wanting to be a bother, but then he realized he may never get an opportunity like this again. He nodded enthusiastically, approaching the pornstar.

"Sign my arm, please. No! Sign my jacket! Wait, uhm, sign this box of cereal." At a loss for what else to do, he held the Frosted Flakes out to Francis. Awkwardly. Francis blinked a moment, never having been asked to sign cereal before, and then took 'em from Alfred. He dug around in his pocket for his wallet, which had a sharpie slid onto it. When he found it he bit the cap and pulled, popping the lid off, and poised the marker over the back of the box.

"Who am I making this out to?" Francis glanced up at Alfred. The young man looked like it was taking all of his will power not to bounce in his eagerness. If he wasn't merely an excited fan, Francis might have thought he was cute. Very cute.

"Me. Aha, Alfred. A-l-f-r-e-d." He laughed nervously, face bright red. "Thanks."

Francis squiggled his stage-name, of sorts, and drew a bubbly heart next to it. He started to write a tiny note using Alfred's name, to make it personal, marking around it with X's and O's. While doing so, he peeked at and watched Alfred as he looked everywhere but directly at him. Francis was amused by how uncomfortable the young man appeared to be considering he had seemed so thrilled to meet Francis. He added a little something extra below his signature, and handed the box back. Alfred took it and stuffed it under his arm again without a glance at the autograph.

"I'm really sorry, I know you have a real life and would rather people like me didn't bother you while you're living it, but I wantcha to know I seriously appreciate you making time for me. And I also appreciate your work. Keep doing what you're doing." Alfred said with a thumbs up. And then his stomach dropped through the floor. Did I just fucking say that?! He screamed internally. He spun around on his feet and fled the aisle before he had the chance to say anything else to embarrass himself.

With a chuckle, Francis picked up another item from the shelf and resumed shopping.


	2. Chapter 2

Only after he'd quickly grabbed his other groceries, checked out, sped home, and shut his apartment door behind him, did Alfred feel like he could breathe normally again. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been as much of a flustered mess upon meeting someone as he'd been with Francis. He couldn't believe himself. He'd said such embarrassing things, and then ran away without even trying to fix the awkwardness, which was unlike him. Utterly mortifying.

He dug through the plastic bags, pulling his box of Frosted Flakes out. Why did he even ask him to sign them? What could've possibly been weirder? He sighed, disappointed in himself, and peered at the box to read Francis' loopy handwriting.

"Enchanté, Alfred. You're an absolutely adorable young man, it was no trouble at all to write you a quick message, and it warms my heart to know you enjoy my hard work. Sincerely, Francis Frederick. P.S. My real name is Francis Bonnefoy. Call me."

Alfred read the words over and over again. As well as the phone number that followed, and the winky face that was drawn next to it. He had to be imagining this. Francis had seemed so bothered by his pestering him, this just had to be a joke.

And yet he was hopeful. He whipped out his phone and punched the number in, choosing instead of calling to type a text message. If it was some random person's cell number, he didn't want to creep them out by calling and asking to speak to a pornstar, so he decided it was the best first move.

"Hey, Francis?" He sent, inexplicably anxious for a reply to confirm or deny his hopes and fears. There were no messages coming in, however, so after a few minutes of waiting he set about putting away his groceries and figuring out what to make for dinner. He decided on chicken, which he only knew how to cook one way– in a pan with oil. It was nothing special, but it would do, for him. He was just dumping the chicken from the pan onto a paper plate, and popping some microwavable side dishes into the microwave, when he heard his phone's text tone chime at him.

He looked at the phone, which was laying facedown on the counter, with a suspicious glare, not wanting to be disappointed if it was just someone from school asking for his notes on one of his professors lectures. Taking a bite of his less than special dinner, he flipped the phone over. The notification was from Francis' supposed number.

"Oui, Cereal Box Boy? I thought I told you to call me." The message read. Alfred's face burned all over again. He thought for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"Just checking. I thought you were kidding me with the phone number... Why did you give it to me, anyway?"

This time, Alfred barely took another bite of his meal before another message popped up on his screen.

"So that I could invite you over to my apartment for dinner on Friday, of course. Only if you'd want to. I make le meillure gâteau chocolat, and that will be what is for dessert. Interested?"

A piece of chicken tumbled from Alfred's mouth and back onto his plate as he blinked at his iPhone. He sat, unmoving and in shock for a moment, before he closed his mouth and tapped on the screen to type a reply. He bit his lip.

"I'm totally interested, for sure. In the cake. And the dinner. Where d'ya live?"

He excitedly awaited Francis' response, ignoring his food for the time being. What could be more important than this?

"I'll take that as an acceptance of my invitation, then. On Friday I will text you my address and you can come by. Say, seven o'clock? D'accord?"

"Sounds great, dude."


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred pulled his car into the parking lot of an apartment complex, checking the address Francis had texted him for probably the twentieth time since he'd started driving. He climbed out of his car. The door to the building swung open just as he looked up, and Francis waved, leaning on the door as he waited for Alfred to come inside.

"Hey, thanks again for inviting me for food." Alfred said almost shyly as they went in, and Francis led him up the stairs towards his apartment.

"Don't thank me just yet, garçon, you haven't even tasted any of what I've prepared. What if it's disgusting? It's not, of course, but suspend your disbelief for a moment to imagine that it could be. Never compliment the chef until you've had at least three bites of the meal. That's a personal rule of mine." Alfred was laughing softly as Francis spoke, and he followed him into his home and sat down where the other directed him to, on a stool by the kitchen counter. Alfred watched, intrigued, as Francis went about finishing up cooking their food. His hands were so nimble.

"I'm flattered you wanted to have dinner with me but I mean, you're you, Francis, I'm just some random guy. I'm just a bit confused." Alfred leaned forward to rest his chin in his hand as he spoke, still studying Francis as he started to chop something. Francis smiled, glancing up at him.

"Simple, because you're cute and I was endeared by your awkward energy. And company is always better than isolation." Alfred snorted, blushing at Francis' response.

"Thanks, I try." He licked his lips, unsure of what to say or do next. Do something, he thought. "Is there anything I could help with? Since, y'know, you're being so generous and hospitable and all." Francis pursed his lips a moment, thinking as he dropped some ingredients into the pan on the stove.

"I don't think so, I've got everything just about ready." Francis scratched his chin, looking at the eager-to-please puppy who sat before him. He really seemed like he wanted to be of some assistance. "Maybe you could frost my chocolate cake. How steady is your hand?"

Alfred smiled. "As steady as it needs to be. Where's the cake?" Francis eyed him suspiciously before responding.

"I hope so, for your sake. In the refrigerator, bottom shelf, please be careful." Francis warned. Alfred was already crouching low and sliding the cake out slowly. Once he stood and set it on the counter away from where Francis was working, he faced him.

"And the frosting?" Alfred asked, waggling his fingers. Francis handed him a bowl.

"Homemade, and it should be a good consistency. Feel free to do a taste test. It's buttercream, by the way. I went with simplicity over decadence, today, purely out of laziness. Forgive me." Francis flashed an apologetic smile, which Alfred thought was totally unnecessary considering his kindness. Francis gestured for him to try the frosting. "S'il te plait, tell me how it is."

Alfred dipped a finger into the bowl hesitantly, concerned he should have asked for some sort of utensil, and then licked the frosting off. He let his eyes roll back.

"Dude, it's so good," Alfred clutched his heart. "Best frosting I've ever tasted." Francis laughed, waving a hand dismissively.

"Then you have been living a deprived life, cher. But I'm glad you like it. I have an icing spatula in the drawer by your hip. That's what you can use to put it on the cake, okay?" Alfred made an exaggerated pouty face.

"I can't just eat it?" He blinked at Francis, who shook his head.

"Absolutely not. We haven't even had dinner, yet, Alfred. Just frost the cake." Shoulders slumped, he set to work. Francis didn't pay him much mind as he finished preparing their food and plated it, and went to set it on the table. And then, when he turned to tell Alfred he could come eat, he saw the cake. The American had haphazardly smeared the frosting all over the cake, and had smoothed none of it out. It was evenly applied, so every bite would have the right amount of topping, but the dessert now looked like a mess. Francis frowned.

"Qu'est-ce que tu as fait de mon gâteau?" Alfred met his glare, eyes widening.

"What?"

"What did you do?" Francis crossed his arms, and tapped his foot. Alfred swallowed hard.

"I finished frosting the cake?" He offered an innocent grin. "Am I allowed to lick the bowl?"

Francis sighed. He felt like he couldn't stay angry, what with Alfred looking at him like a remorseful criminal. "Oui," He replied begrudgingly, "and then put it in the sink and join me for the meal." He shook his head, taking a seat, as Alfred was giddily scraping the frosting remnants up like an excited child.

When Alfred came and sat down, he looked at how Francis had folded his napkin across his lap. He did the same. The scent of the food hit his nose and he shut his eyes for a moment, inhaling, and smiling wide.

"This smells awesome. Do you have, like, a side job as a chef?" Alfred asked Francis as he lifted a huge forkful towards his mouth. Francis sliced a piece of meat and took a tiny bite.

"Non, but my family taught me how to cook when I was young, and then I went to culinary school. It just, well, never went anywhere."

Still shoveling food into his mouth, Alfred tilted his head. "Was that what you wanted to do? Before you got into, uh, the entertainment industry?" Francis hadn't expected the sudden question about his dreams, and took a sip of his drink before answering.

"Ouais, it was. But things happen, plans change, and not everything works out." He told him with an air of nonchalance to mask the slight regret that he felt. And he smirked when he realized how Alfred had danced around naming his field of employment. "Aussi, you can just say what I do, tu connais. I work in the porn business. I'm not the type to be pretentious or self conscious and tell you I'm an adult film actor. It's porn. C'est simple." Alfred's face reddened.

"Yeah, I know. I guess I'm just not the best at talking about that kind of thing." He looked down at his plate, pushing potatoes around with his fork. He was smiling dorkily. "But it's awesome that you're really confident and comfortable about your work. You should be." He stuffed more food in his mouth to shut himself up, and Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Was that a compliment? I'm not sure if you mean how I look," Francis leaned forward, smiling wickedly, "Or how I sound. Or is it both?" He was enjoying himself, watching the tan American boy turn into a maraschino cherry right before his eyes. Alfred swallowed his mouthful of meat and veggies.

"Both. All of it, honestly. Like, damn, dude. But, well, anyway, I feel like this isn't the kind of conversation I meant for us to have..." Alfred blew a puff of air up towards his bangs. "I don't want us to not be able to be friends just because I enjoyed your creative work before we met." Now Francis laughed, causing Alfred to look a bit confused and frightened.

"Au contraire, Alfred, that would not prevent us from being friends. Truthfully, most of my friends have seen me naked." Still pink in the face, Alfred nodded his head.

"Oh, yeah. Right. No big deal." Francis tapped his chin as he studied Alfred across the table.

"I like you. I think the two of us are going to be great friends. You agree, yes?" He supposed. Alfred nodded without hesitation. "Bien. I think we should have dinner every Friday, what do you say?"

"I say yeah, dude. Absolutely."

"Merveilleux. Get the cake, it's time for dessert."


	4. Chapter 4

As the weekly dinners became routine, Alfred found himself loosening up a bit from the nervous fan feeling he'd had around Francis, and Francis grew accustomed to Alfred helping him in the kitchen. The boy was not very skilled, naturally, but with instruction and practice he picked up how to do things very easily, and Francis quite enjoyed his assistance and company while he cooked. But he did not allow Alfred to help with desserts, Except to devour them once they were complete.

"Okay, okay. But tell me, seriously, who's your favorite super hero? And don't gimme some crap that you picked by costume, I want raw character analysis." Alfred asked as Francis handed him a potato to peel, which he got to doing right away. Francis pursed his lips.

"Hm." He started to wash some apples in the sink, inhaling through his nose slowly, trying to think through what he knew about comic characters and marvel movies and the like in order to give Alfred a good answer. "I'm not as avid a superhero fan as you, cher, but that is still a rather difficult question. I think I'll have to go with The Hulk." He bobbed his head, but then he noticed Alfred was waiting for explanation. "I assume you have seen the 2003 Hulk movie? Well, that was one of the first super hero movies I ever saw. And when I watched how badly he wanted to love, but he couldn't because of what he was, my heart broke for him. I am ashamed to admit I wept over Bruce Banner's tragic love life and story back before they even did as excellent a job with casting as they did for Avengers."

Alfred nodded in approval. "So you're a sad character story kinda guy. I get it, angsty stuff can be cool. I like a good combo of sad backstory, awesome personality, and cool powers or gear, myself. Which is why I don't have one, but three favorite super heroes. Captain America, Iron Man, and Deadpool. And I like to think that when I become a super hero— yes, I said when, don't doubt me —I'll be an even blend of those three. That's the goal." Francis laughed softly.

"I have faith in you, and I certainly think you're quite like your favorites. Sweet and adorable and unselfish and strong like Steve, cocky and petty and smarter than people credit you for like Tony, and obnoxious and crude and childish but with a kind heart like Wade." He told Alfred, who swooned slightly in shock that Francis knew all their names. Not to mention that all the complimenting had him swelling with pride. The dreamy look in the American's eyes confused Francis, who hadn't realized the purest form of flattery in Alfred's mind was to be compared to his heroes, but he was not put off in the slightest by it and winked at the boy before turning his attention back to the apples. Time to cut them.

"Are you ever gonna ask me which one of your videos was my favorite?" Francis looked up at Alfred, who was gazing at him with a red face but unshy eyes. He wasn't glancing away like he usually did when talking about things like this. Francis smirked.

"I can't say I had exactly planned on it, but I won't deny that I am curious. You seem a bit reserved when it comes to sex and sexuality. Tell me, mon petit, what one of my jobs did you enjoy the most?" He inquired, side-eyeing Alfred, as he began to add the apple pieces into the dish he was making. Alfred's lips were pressed firmly together, and he tilted his head to the side, as if glancing through his mental library for the right volume.

" 'European Man Likes Dick – Shower Sex With A Foreigner'." Alfred answered, reciting the title carefully from his memory to make sure he got it just right, before letting out an awkward laugh. "It was the second video that you're in that I saw." Francis remembered that one, and he kept working on dinner, making a reflective sort of face.

"That was a nice work day, I recall. I quite like having sex in the shower. It's so nice." He commented, causing Alfred's tinged cheeks to darken further.

"I wouldn't know, but I'll take your word for it." He replied, scratching the back of his head. Francis clasped a hand over his heart. His other hand continued cooking, shifting a spatula around a pan, but he gaped at Alfred with an exaggerated, dramatic expression. He was shocked (though admittedly acting more so than he actually was) and he pitied the poor boy for having yet to have experienced shower sex. Or at least he was shooting him a pitying look.

"Oh mon dieu, mon cher, you simply must try it." Alfred was informed, Francis waggling a finger at him like he was being scolded. Alfred nodded while chuckling, eyes finally dipping down to the floor like always. This topic never failed to fluster the American.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, thanks." He gave Francis the peeled potato, and Francis quickly chopped and added it in with the other food he was cooking.

"Dinner is almost ready, petit lapin, you can have a seat if you'd like, and I'll bring everything over in just a little bit longer." Alfred nodded, and went to the table, eager for another of Francis' ever impressive meals.

-later-

"So you're spending your time with someone who performs in pornography?" Arthur asked critically, sipping his to-go cup of tea as he walked with his friend from Starbucks to their English lecture. Alfred made a face.

"Stop sounding all judge-y about it. He's really cool. Besides, Mr. Snooty, you shouldn't look down on people just because of how you feel about their career choices." Arthur scoffed at Alfred's defensive reply.

"I never said anything about not approving of him or your having dinner together, but pardon me for asking, I suppose." He laughed condescendingly, tightening his hold on his books. "I just can't imagine you have much in common with him. I mean, you only just came out as pansexual, what, three months ago? And you've never dated let alone had sex with a man. What do you even talk about?"Arthur questioned with an arched brow. Alfred frowned.

"Food. And movies. And superheroes. And our dreams. And books and our interests and how our week's have been and stuff. And yeah, sex, sometimes. Not everyone is as much of a stick in the mud as you, y'know." Alfred told Arthur, elbowing him lazily in the side, as he fiddled with the straps of his backpack. Arthur smirked wickedly.

"You like him. Oh my god, you bloody like him. How old is he? Does he know you're only in your second year of college? Does he know you're into him?" Alfred shook his head furiously.

"I do not, dude. He's just fun to hangout with. He's 24, and he knows I'm 19 and that I'm in college, so, I'm sure he's connected the dots that I'm not a freshman or almost done yet. And he doesn't know I'm into him, because I'm not into him. We're friends." He responded, still tugging at his backpack straps. Arthur was cracking up.

"Friends? Like how we're friends? Alfred, please, you're not the type to be friends with people you've masturbated to." He wiped at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes from laughing as he spoke. "Mate, admit it, you have a crush on him." Alfred punched his shoulder.

"Shut up, we're gonna be late for class."

||| IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE! Being student is hard work, and procrastination is hella seductive. But I'm back! And I totally appreciate the nice reviews and the love for my work. It warms my gay little heart that people enjoy my otp like I do! Thanks for reading ! xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

Friday dinners turned into weekend hangouts, with Alfred passing out on the couch, and Francis settling a blanket over him with a pleased look on his face. Heading to his own bed to sleep as well, he would mutter a 'sweet dreams' over his shoulder to his snoozing guest, and nearly forget that the other didn't actually live in his apartment from Friday till Sunday afternoon.

A tentative, but deep friendship was growing. One unlike any that either of the two had experienced before meeting one another. Alfred wasn't usually the type to infringe on someone's home life, but something about the way Francis was just made him feel as if he wasn't doing that when he slept over on accident. And those yawning evenings in Francis' living room were followed by drowsy Saturday and Sunday mornings. Alfred would awake to the smell of a late breakfast cooking, would apologize for overstaying his welcome, and would have a freshly made treat given to him along with a shush and a grin. Francis would always be more than happy to have such smiley company upon getting out of bed and starting his day.

Their routine was expanding even beyond their days off. They would text almost all day, each day during the week, sending silly selfies and talking about work and, in Alfred's case, school. And on a particularly busy day for Francis, after a long previous night with his friends Antonio and Gilbert at their favorite club at which to go dancing, he texted Alfred to complain about being tired.

"I've been shooting for an hour, and I have a bunch more work to do. This is the end for me— I'm going to die of exhaustion. Dieu, my poor family, all my wonderful friends, I'll never see them again…"

Alfred smiled at the drama, walking between classes. He glanced at the clock. He had twenty minutes, and the studio Francis was usually at was only five away from his campus, and their was a Starbucks a minute away. He could make it.

"I'll save you."

And off he went. Francis laughed when he read his reply, thinking Alfred was silly. But he thought he was significantly less so when Alfred came in, talking awkwardly to an assistant of the director, holding a hot cup of coffee. Francis stood up from his makeup table, crossing the room with a muted look expressing the shock he felt, and greeted his friend.

"Alfred, what are you doing here? You have class, n'est-ce pas?" He tilted his head as he spoke, and Alfred waved a hand dismissively. He held out the coffee.

"Not for a few minutes, still. I won't be late. I told ya I would save ya. A little caffeine should post-pone your death." Alfred smirked a sweet sort of smirk, if it could be called that, and Francis accepted the Starbucks. Hardly anyone ever went out of their way for him and he was surprised and flattered to a degree he didn't think Alfred was capable of making him be.

"Merci, yes, I think I just might live, now." He thanked the American, warmly. Alfred gave a thumbs up.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." And with that he left. He had to head back to school. Francis had to work again, in a few moments. But for just a second he let the random, tiny act of kindness make him sigh. And then a casting director was asking him to talk to 'that large, blond, jockish looking boy' about coming to perform in one of their videos. Francis shook his head.

"Non, he's not the type to. But I'll be sure to tell him you liked his look. He'll like that." He wondered briefly, as he took off his robe and got ready to film, why his heart was hammering as if he was… what, nervous? Francis hadn't been nervous since he was 11 years old, when it came to love and sex. What on earth was in the coffee? Or rather, what was in Alfred that had made him bring it for him? Good questions, for another time, as he decided that it would better to dwell on them anytime when he wasn't having sex with an actor, and so he cleared his head.

"You're late!" Arthur hissed in a whisper as Alfred joined him at their station in the lab. Physics. Easy stuff. Alfred shrugged.

"Yeah, I can comprehend time, dude. I was doing something. I'm here now, don't flip out." He dropped his bag on the floor, and started reading the lab book so he could figure out what they'd been assigned in the 10 minutes he'd missed of class. Stupid, unsuspected traffic. Arthur hit his arm.

"I'm not flipping out, Alfred. You just can't start being one of those idiots that are late for class! Especially when I'm your lab partner." Rolling his eyes at Arthur, Alfred started to set up the experiment.

"Relax. I haven't been late to any of my classes since the beginning of my freshman year, here, and you know that. So I was late once, it's not the end of the world. I was getting coffee for Francis. Let's just do our work." He turned the page in his lab book, not noticing Arthur putting his hands on his hips and narrowing his eyes at him.

"Coffee? What are you, his P.A.?" He questioned, indignantly. Alfred turned to him with an irritated look.

"No, he didn't ask me to, or expect me to, or anything. I just did it because I knew he was tired and had a lot of work to do. I was just being nice." He defended, shaking his head. Arthur nodded sarcastically.

"Right, right. Because it's just normal niceties to make yourself late for someone else's benefit. Did you get him a wedding ring, as well? Hm?" Arthur's face was starting to get red, and he was getting worked up. Alfred closed his eyes. When Arthur got like this he was hard to calm down.

"Arthur, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to stick you with the work, or make it seem like I'm gonna become a dropout, or something. It won't happen again, okay? I promise." Arthur's tenses shoulders seemed to relax a little as Alfred said this. And then Alfred hooked his arm around Arthur's head and gave him a noogie. "And no, I didn't get a ring. I told you, we're just friends, that's it."

Arthur writhed free and immediately started to fix his hair, harrumphing at Alfred, who'd cracked into a smile. Alfred went about testing, and Arthur finished straightening himself up, glaring at his friend.

"I still think there's something different with you two." He sounded suspicious, and Alfred shrugged.

"I don't know. I think he's just a flirty person, so, I doubt there's anything…" Arthur frowned as Alfred spoke.

"You think he doesn't and won't like you as anything more than a friend. Alfred, don't do that to yourself. Don't be an adoring puppy to someone who doesn't feel the same. It'll hurt you." All the aggression he'd had left Arthur's voice and now his tone was more advisory and concerned. But Alfred just chuckled lowly.

"I'm fine, dude. Don't worry so much."


End file.
